Chapter 29 #2
My hands are still shaking—anger, adrenaline, the taste of violence thick on my tongue. But none of it means shit if she’s not okay.
I climb the stairs, taking them two at a time, desperate to get back to her. I can hear the water running as I round the corner—soft voices, the faintest ripple of a laugh—Riot’s voice. Sawyer’s barely there, but it’s enough to crack something open inside me.
I pause in the doorway. The scene stops me cold.
Sawyer’s in the bathtub, curled up in Riot’s lap.
She looks small, almost fragile, hair wet and tangled, Riot’s arms holding her like she’s the only thing keeping him afloat.
He’s murmuring to her, fingers gently combing suds through her hair, his mouth at her ear—soft words I can’t quite hear, but I know their meaning.
Sawyer’s eyes flicker open when she senses me. She blinks, lips parted, and for a second, I see the terror she’s trying so damn hard to swallow.
“Jasper…”
My chest aches at the sound of my name. I crouch beside the tub, reaching for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. She’s cold—softer than I remember, like she could float away if I let go.
“You’re safe,” I say quietly, voice shaking with everything I can’t say. “I promise. No one’s gonna touch you again. Not while I’m breathing.”
Riot gives me a nod, something fierce and loyal in his eyes. He washes the soap from her hair, never breaking the rhythm. “We got her,” he says, like a vow.
I stare at Sawyer—her face, her lashes wet, the hollow under her eyes that wasn’t there before tonight. I want to destroy Blake all over again. But I squeeze her hand as gently as I can.
“Riot, do you want a break?” My voice is low, but he hears the intent.
He shakes his head, running his fingers gently down her back. “She needs both of us, man. Just be here.”
I exhale, feeling the weight of everything settle on my shoulders. I lean down and press a kiss to Sawyer’s forehead, breathing in the steam and the soft scent of her skin, trying to burn the memory into my bones.
“We’re not leaving you,” I promise. “Not for anything.”
She nods, a tremble running through her, and presses her face into Riot’s chest.
I kneel there, one hand in her hair, the other wrapped around her free hand. Riot keeps her anchored in the water; I keep her anchored to this world.
And for the first time in hours, I feel something close to hope.
RIOT
She’s boneless in my arms, head tucked under my chin, legs curled up between mine in the steaming water.
I hold her like she’s glass, but, fuck, even shattered, she’s the strongest thing I’ve ever seen.
Jasper is crouched beside the tub, fingers stroking through her hair, and for once, we’re not jealous of who’s holding her.
We’re just here. All three of us, breathing the same air. Existing.
Sawyer’s got her eyes half-closed, fingers tangled with mine under the bubbles. The bruises on her wrists stand out starkly against her pale skin. Every time I see them, I want to break something—or someone—all over again. But I hold her tighter.
The water’s cooling. Her lips are turning a little blue, her shoulders shivering under the surface. I run my hand down her arm, voice gentle.
“Hey, baby. Let’s get you out. The bed’s warm. We can keep you close there. Both of us.”
She blinks up at me, and for a second, her gaze is full of that haunted fragility—but she nods.
Jasper’s already moving. He grabs the towel I set out, opens it wide.
I help her stand, arms steadying her, and Jasper wraps her up, pulling her into his chest, drying her off slowly.
His hands are gentle. Worshipful. I can see the way he looks at her, all the ugly rage and tenderness at war on his face.
I press a kiss to the crown of her head, then step back. “I’m gonna rinse off, sweetheart. You let Jasper take care of you for a minute.”
She clings to the towel, cheeks flushed, looking between us. “Don’t leave,” she whispers, voice small.
“I’m not,” I promise, squeezing her shoulder. “Just right here.”
I strip out of my boxers and step into the shower, hot water pounding over my back. But I keep my eyes on them—the way Jasper sits Sawyer on the closed toilet, tucks another towel around her shoulders, and plugs in the hairdryer.
He kneels in front of her, moving slow like every touch is a prayer. His hands are in her hair, combing out the tangles with a patience I never knew he had. The dryer whirs, soft and warm, and she closes her eyes, breathing a little easier now that we’re both in the room.
Steam fogs the mirror. The air is thick with the scent of Sawyer—soap, sweat, something raw and feminine and only hers. I lean against the tile, watching her face as Jasper works—her lips parting, eyes softening, tension melting from her shoulders with every slow drag of the brush.
Jasper glances up, catches me staring. For once, there’s no challenge in it—just understanding. We’re here for her. We’d do anything for her.
When Jasper finishes drying her hair, he sets the brush down and studies her like he’s cataloguing every wound and bruise. Then his eyes land on the angry, raw cut across her thigh and the deeper one on her hip—souvenirs from hell.
Without a word, he opens the cabinet and grabs the first-aid kit. He kneels in front of her, all muscle and ink, but his touch is careful as sin. “Hold still, Trouble,” he murmurs, voice rough with tenderness. He cleans the wounds, gently, even as she hisses through her teeth at the sting.
“Sorry,” Jasper whispers, pressing a kiss to the unbroken skin above her hip. “Almost done.”
She squeezes his shoulder, breath hitching, but lets him finish—bandaging her up with hands that shake a little, like the thought of her pain hurts him more than anything ever could.
I’m still watching from the shower, every instinct in me roaring to protect her, but knowing she’s safe—because Jasper’s taking care of her like she’s the only thing keeping him breathing.
Once he’s finished, he looks up at her—eyes darker, softer. “You good?”
She nods, voice quiet but steady. “Yeah. I am now.”
I turn off the shower, wrapping a towel low on my hips. I meet her eyes in the mirror as I step out—just a moment, but it’s enough. She’s still here—still ours.
We shuffle her out of the bathroom, me in nothing but a towel, Jasper still in the same outfit we rescued her in. He probably needs a shower, but I know Sawyer doesn’t want him out of her sight.
I grab the first clean pair of sweats I see and yank them on, but I don’t miss the way Jasper picks through my shirts until he finds the softest, oldest one—the one I stole from merch years ago, the one that smells like every city we’ve ever played.
He helps Sawyer into it, tugging it over her head like she’s breakable.
I haven’t seen her in one of my shirts before, but now?
Fuck, I don’t wanna see her in anything else.
She sways a little, so I scoop her up and help her into bed, pulling the covers up around her shoulders. Jasper changes quickly, then climbs in on her other side, stretching an arm out behind her like a barrier, like a vow.
The room’s quiet for a while. Just breathing. Just existing.
I can feel her thinking—feel the tension in the way her fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt, the way she stares at the ceiling like she’s waiting for the sky to fall.
I brush my knuckles across her jaw. “What’s goin’ on in that head, Hellcat?”
Jasper and I trade a look.
She looks away, face tight. Embarrassment flickers there, something bruised and young. Her eyes glisten in the low light, and I feel her struggle with every part of me.
Jasper shifts, voice dropping soft and deep. “Sawyer, talk to us. Please.”
She squeezes her eyes shut. She takes a few seconds—seconds that feel like hours—before she whispers, “I’m scared you guys won’t want me anymore. Not after what happened. After what Blake did to me.”
The room freezes.
Jasper sits up, his eyes gone dark and dangerous, but his touch is gentle. “That’s bullshit,” he says, rough around the edges. “Nothing he did can touch what we feel for you. Nothing he did can take away from who you are. You survived. That’s the only thing that matters.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing my thumb over her cheek. Her skin is warm and damp, still smelling like my soap. “You are not broken, Sawyer. Not to us. You’re a fucking miracle. You’re strong. You’re everything.”
Jasper’s hand finds hers, threading their fingers together. “You think we’re gonna run now? After everything?” He leans in, pressing his forehead to her temple, grounding her. “There’s nothing you could do that could scare us off.”
She blinks fast, and a single tear escapes, rolling down her cheek. I catch it before it falls, kissing it away.
“If you wanna cry, cry,” I murmur. “If you wanna scream, scream. You don’t have to hide anything from us. Not ever. We want all of you. Every piece. Every scar.”
She finally meets our eyes, voice trembling. “You promise?”
I squeeze her tighter. Jasper brushes his lips against her hair.
“Swear on my life,” I whisper.
“Swear on mine,” Jasper echoes, fierce as a prayer.
SAWYER
I’m sandwiched between them—safe, warm, their bodies pressed so close that for a second I almost forget the ache inside me.
Riot’s shirt drowns me, soft and smelling like him, like smoke and chaos and something dangerous that feels like home.
Jasper’s hand is heavy on my side, thumb tracing circles on my hip, trying to anchor me to the present. But my mind won’t stop spinning.
Their words echo in my head—You’re everything. You’re not broken. Nothing he did can change how we see you.—but there’s a wall inside me. Cracked. Splintered and still stained with shame.
Because I know I have to say it. I have to say the ugliest part.
And I don’t know if I’ll survive it.